


Boston

by SharkAria



Series: 1998 [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 80's Music, 90's Music, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Classism, Consensual Sex, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Smut, age gap amongst adults, all characters are adults, written prior to Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22540495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkAria/pseuds/SharkAria
Summary: After two wild college years in Fresno, California, Hordak must take a trip back to the East Coast home of his youth.  Cousin Catra seems determined to make his visit miserable, but “misery” could take on a new meaning when big brother Prime shows up unexpectedly.  Good thing that loving girlfriend Entrapta has come along -- or is it?The late-90s East Coast “home from college” AU sequel you might need in your life.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Hordak (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Glimmer/Horde Prime (She-Ra)
Series: 1998 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621843
Comments: 43
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Boston” continues my 90’s Entrapdak College AU, “Fresno” . Here’s a summary: Circa 1998, East Coast prep school product Hordak unwillingly attends a (gasp) *state school* all the way out in California. Hordak earns a junior year transfer to Stanford, but he chooses to stay in the Central Valley after falling in love with rockstar physics major/local lady Entrapta. 
> 
> FYI: This story features consensual, explicit adult sexual content amongst college students Entrapta/Hordak and post-collegiate Glimmer/Horde Prime. I wrote a story about fictional adult characters doing questionable/immoral things, but that does not mean that I, the author, think those things are good ideas, and I do not want to see Glimmer/Horde Prime happen in canon.

[](https://imgbb.com/)

**Fly**

“I’ve never been on a plane before,” Entrapta whispers into Hordak’s ear as the 737 taxis on the runway. “And now I get to fly on three in one day!”

“Hmm,” Hordak grunts. He cannot muster the same enthusiasm for the trip back to Boston to straighten out his state residency paperwork. 

Entrapta grins at Hordak's flat response, and the way she looks at him makes him forget the three hour Greyhound ride north from Fresno to catch this flight out of Sac Metro.

Thirty thousand feet over Salt Lake City, Entrapta smooshes her face to the window and narrates all that she sees, and her excitement is so compelling that Hordak forgets about the numbness in his legs and the fact that he has crammed his six foot nine frame into the middle seat.

During takeoff from Midway, Entrapta squeals gleefully as an updraft from Lake Michigan whumps the plane into a precipitous drop in altitude, and she’s so cute that Hordak forgets the corresponding drop in his stomach.

But when they finally land at Logan, even Entrapta’s smile isn’t bright enough to outshine the unpleasant surprise of cousin Catra at the curb, leaning against her boss’s government issued Crown Victoria, cradling a cell phone against her ear, wearing a stupid brown pantsuit and an even stupider smirk. 

“This must be the girlfriend,” Catra purrs, hanging up the phone and chucking it into the car through the open passenger window. Her skin has a deeper bronze sheen and more freckles since the last time Hordak saw her, and she's wearing her hair flatter these days. She looks over the top of her Matrix-y sunglasses to reveal her Horde-green eyes and gives Entrapta a once-over. “I didn’t expect Hordak to bring back anything from California except a sunburn."

“Her name is Entrapta. And watch the tone, cousin,” Hordak warns as he loads the bags into the trunk.

"Nice luggage, Entrapta," Catra says while still looking at Hordak.

“Thanks!” Entrapta shouts over the traffic noise, oblivious to the put-down of her Hello Kitty rolling suitcase. "Were you talking on a Nokia? Those are so cool. You can turn them into an ignition switch for any number of explosive devices --"

“Catra, I thought you were going to be at work,” Hordak says as a means of cutting off Entrapta. He should have told his girlfriend not to talk about bombs at the airport.

“I set my own schedule,” says Catra as she continues to gawk at Entrapta. The car behind hers honks, and Catra flips the bird at the driver. “Look at the license plate, asshole! I’m on official state business!” She saunters unnecessarily slowly around the front of the car and gets into the driver’s seat.

“Is this a proper use of public resources?” Hordak comments as he opens the rear door for Entrapta and slides into the seat beside her. The relative quiet of the vehicle is a relief to his exhausted, jangled nerves. “Won't you get in trouble for wasting taxpayer dollars?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hordak, how about ‘Thanks for picking me up’?” Catra growls, but she doesn’t answer the question. She veers out into traffic and accelerates before Hordak or Entrapta have time to fasten their seatbelts.

“I’m so excited to see everything,” Entrapta says, clearly choosing to ignore the familial tension. She bats at her hair, which has poofed up to twice its size in the East Coast summer humidity. “What do you do at the Capitol, Catra?” she asks around a mouthful of frizzy purple tendrils.

Catra accelerates onto the turnpike. “Oh, you know. Pass laws. Run the government. Take over the world.”

“Fascinating!” says Entrapta, though Hordak suspects that Entrapta is more fascinated by the Big Dig construction project out her window than by Catra’s career.

“I’m on the fast track to leadership,” Catra continues. “Any day now I’m gonna get a business card that says, ‘Catra E. Horde, Chief of Staff.’”

Hordak snorts. His cousin has become even more insufferable since she made the jump from part-time campaign staff to a position on Beacon Hill, and she has to be overstating her influence. She is probably just a glorified coffee deliverer. “Now that you have a real job, you can stop using my social security number to apply for credit cards,” he says, knowing he shouldn’t harangue his cousin but feeling the anger pour out. “It _is_ a real job, isn’t it? Or is it just a place to flirt with interns and make Adora jealous?”

“Shut up. Adora and I are super serious these days.” Catra cuts off a Suburban. “She’s coming to the party at our place tomorrow.”

“A party?” Entrapta shrieks excitedly at the same time that Hordak repeats the word in disgust.

“Come on Catra, Entrapta and I have been traveling since four in the morning." Hordak glares out the window. They have passed through the thicket of skyscrapers and are ascending into the leafy, brick-built neighborhood where he grew up. He scratches the back of his neck. "The last thing we need is a party. I’m sure that Entrapta just wants to --”

“Go to a party and meet all of Hordak’s friends. I want to do that!” Entrapta says, wriggling in her seat. 

“Oh, you’ll love everyone, sweetie,” Catra says, smirking again as she catches Hordak’s eye in the rearview mirror. “There’s Scorpia, who gets along with everybody, and Mermista, who -- uh, doesn’t, and Nettie and her girlfriend are going to be there, and Lonnie and Octavia said they’d swing by, and Mara is going to bring a huge tray of Jell-O shots, and Bow, and Glimmer -- she’s kind of annoying, but she can really hold her booze -- and of course, _Adora_ is coming --” 

“--aren’t my friends,” Hordak mutters, but neither Catra nor Entrapta hears him.

Entrapta lurches forward and extracts a notebook and pen from her backpack in the footwell. “I should write this down. I want to remember everything.” She starts scribbling names on the top page in tangerine ink. 

“I have no idea how Hordak bagged you. You’re so cute!” Catra says in a tone of voice that conveys that when she says “cute,” she means “weird”. Then she makes the most insane merge known to mankind to reach the Winchester off-ramp and slams the brakes at the stoplight. She turns around and jerks her chin at Hordak. In an uncharacteristically serious tone she murmurs, “There’s one more thing.”

“What else?” Hordak asks through clenched teeth. Can it get worse than a party full of politicians?

“He’s back. For good this time.” Catra lowers her voice and glances away. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,_ Hordak thinks. “Great.” He glances worriedly at Entrapta. “Just fucking great.”

Entrapta looks up from her notepad. “Who’s back?”

Hordak looks at Catra, and he sees his fear reflected in her eyes. 

*_*_*_*_*_*

**Square Biz**

_Forty six._ As far as Prime is concerned, music's last good day was December 31, 1989.

_Forty seven._ Obviously, he has done what he can to imbue his younger relatives with acceptable musical taste, ever since they became his problem a dozen years back. As usual, Cousin Catra shows a small amount of promise; she now mixes Blondie in with her puerile punk rock.

_Forty eight._ Hordak, though. The brat has been as hopeless in music as he has been in every other endeavor since the asthma ended his ROTC enrollment. Fresno State (for fuck’s sake) surely hasn’t improved _Little Brother’s_ taste.

_Forty nine._ Hell. Prime’s cousin and brother can listen to Kenny G, so long as they stay compliant. So long as they don’t try to upend Prime’s control over the aged, helpless Uncle Skeletor and his many millions of dollars in the trust -- so long as Catra and Hordak do what Prime tells them on the important things -- those two can live their puny, pathetic lives as they will.

_Fifty._ Prime releases the pull-up bar and drops to the ground. He picks up the towel hanging on the weight machine and pats his face dry. Workouts have been sweatier since he started growing his hair out, but it’s worth it. The Financial District guys get weird about military-style crew cuts in a way that the Beltway contractors never did, and he needs them to view him as an ally. Overall, however, it’s good to be home.

He presses a button on the remote and cuts off Teena Marie mid-lyric. But instead of the silence he expected, he hears voices coming from the direction of the driveway.

“Wow! You grew up _here_?” The woman’s voice is unfamiliar, but it is so shrill that it easily penetrates the double-paned windows of the home gym.

“Pretty sweet, right?” comes Catra’s bragging rasp. “We have a condo in the city, too.”

“The Horde trust has a condo. Not us.” It’s his little brother’s unmistakable, annoying whine. “I already miss Fresno. At least it’s a dry heat there.”

“That’s what I said,” replies the nasally female. “You’re totally becoming a Californian, babe!” Ah. The voice must belong to the -- Prime can hardly think the word without rolling his eyes -- girlfriend that Catra mentioned. It makes a certain amount of sense, though, that the undisciplined West Coast would be home to someone who would want to date _Hordak_.

Prime goes to the window and presses down a few blinds with his pinky. Hordak is pulling stuff out of the car while Catra points at the home’s federal brick facade. The other woman is blocked from view by the forsythia shrubs.

The three new arrivals walk out of sight, presumably to the front door. 

Prime rolls his shoulders. He could get it over with now -- he could walk out into the foyer and greet the brother he hasn’t seen for two years. He could find out if Hordak has accomplished anything out on the West Coast (unlikely) or earned a place as a co-trustee (impossible). 

Or, Prime could make Hordak sweat a little longer.

Prime pads over to the back door and changes into his running shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stitches**

“Fuck,” Hordak gasps into the pillow. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles and eases himself over onto his back. “Where did you learn that?”

Entrapta peels the lube-covered latex glove from her hand and tosses it toward the trash can. She is unclothed but for her ribbon choker with the amethyst pendant, and her hair frizzes out everywhere. “Porn, of course.”

Of course.

“I thought you might need something special after a long day,” she adds. “I know that Boston isn’t your favorite place. Been fun for me though!” She grins and flops back onto the covers.

There is something so satisfying about having his naked girlfriend stretched out on his old plaid duvet, the physical manifestation of his every high school fantasy. It’s almost enough to make Hordak forget that Prime is lurking around somewhere and could interrupt at any moment. Almost.

Time to clean up. Hordak pulls the beach towel out from under his body and gives himself a wipe. 

“This was the best day, Hordak. And tomorrow is going to be even better,” Entrapta says as she shoots upright, her torso rigid. “You are going to love the MIT museum. Did you know they have a --” she launches into a recitation of whatever she’s read about the current exhibits, working herself up until she is actually bouncing as she speaks. It’s cute, even kinda hot to see her so excited. But then she bounces just a little too high and falls off the bed, crashing onto the floor. She keeps right on talking, though.

 _Can’t she control herself?_ Asks the voice of Prime that lives in Hordak’s head. Out in California, it’s easy to tell that voice to shut up. But here in his childhood home, it’s impossible to quell. _She’s so strange, Hordak. Not Horde material._

“Could you --” Hordak cuts in. “Could you not do that?” 

Entrapta freezes mid-sentence. “Do what?” she asks.

“The ranting,” he says, and even as the words leave his mouth he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows she’s not doing it on purpose, knows that it’s a habit that she’s sensitive about. He remembers that she smiled, then went down on him when he once told her he thought her monologues were informative and sexy. “Just while we’re here,” he adds, but he knows that it doesn’t make him less of an asshole at this moment.

Entrapta blinks, then tucks her chin down. Her cheeks darken and she frowns into her lap. “Oh. Um -- OK.” She wraps her arms around her naked body and bites her lip.

Dammit. This wouldn’t be a problem if Prime had stayed down in DC like he was supposed to. “It’s not for me,” Hordak hurries to explain. “It’s just -- Prime can be such a dick about everything, and he’s always looking for ways to put people down.” 

It’s not the whole truth, and Entrapta can probably tell. But it’s too late to take the words back, and besides, Prime should acknowledge Entrapta for her incredible assets without being distracted by her unconventional habits.

“Okay, sure.” Without speaking further, Entrapta pulls a faded, stretched out No Fear shirt over her head and steps into some clean panties, then gets under the covers and lays on her back, very, very still. 

Well, Hordak hasn’t taken care of her yet. Maybe he can pull her out of her anger, or embarrassment, or whatever is going on. He rolls onto his side and places his hand lightly on her waist. “Um -- do you want me to --” he moves his hand lower, to her hip.

“What? Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m tired.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Hordak lies in silence for a while, unsure of how to feel. But the long day of travel catches up with him and soon he falls asleep.

Entrapta stays quiet the next morning as she dresses. She doesn’t look sad or angry; rather, she seems to be concentrating really hard. 

All Hordak wants is to resolve his bureaucratic residency mess and graduate from Fresno State and hole up with Entrapta in some shitty stucco-sided grad student housing block on the Caltech campus and make her come ten times every night to compensate for being too chickenshit to disregard what his big brother thinks. Prime always fucks everything up, though.

Fucking Boston. Fucking Prime.

“I got up before you? I’m shocked!” Catra cackles, still in her pajamas, from her seat at the breakfast table when Hordak and Entrapta thunk down the stairs. “So much for all those years of you telling me to get my ass out of bed, eh cousin?”

“We’re still on Pacific time. It’s five AM for us.” Hordak mutters, blinking away the morning sunlight. “Tell me there is coffee.”

“And sugar?” Entrapta adds, her voice still uncharacteristically flat.

“Help yourself,” Catra says, waving at the coffeemaker on the counter. She takes a sip out of an old campaign mug (“Adam Eternia for Middlesex County Sheriff - The NEW face of Law Enforcement!”) and turns the page of the _Globe_ without looking up.

Entrapta grabs two additional mugs (“Tung Lashor - Mayor for the Millenium” and “Sea Hawk: The Steamship Authority Port Councillor with a name YOU CAN TRUST”) and starts shoveling sugar into both.

Hordak is so busy marveling about the existence of sugar in the kitchen that Prime once declared to be permanently carb-free that he hardly notices the shadow that falls across the counter.

“Little brother,” says a voice, so like his own.

Hordak flips around. 

Prime is the same height as Hordak, but he still seems much taller. He wears his white-blond hair slicked back; it’s now almost long enough to pull into a ponytail. A permanent crease is starting to form on his brow, but otherwise his skin is pale and unblemished, highlighting his green eyes even more starkly. He wears a summer-weight grey suit, and incredibly, he has forgone a tie, but then this is July and most of the finance dickheads are probably off at their Nantucket cottages. 

The expression of bored disapproval on Prime’s face is the same that it’s always been. 

"Prime. I --" What can Hordak say to the father figure, the standard setter? The one who would sneer at the successful life that Hordak has built in California? "We aren't staying long. The residency paperwork -- Fres--" he stops. He can't bear to say the name of the place to his brother. "The university needs it for my scholarship --"

"I know. Catra told me." Prime flicks his eyes to Hordak’s blue hair. He scowls, and that’s all that Hordak needs to know about Prime’s opinion of that. 

Prime swings his bulk in Entrapta's direction. He gives her a once over and doesn't seem to be impressed. As Hordak expected. “I see that you and my little brother share hairstyles,” he addresses her. He looks at Hordak again, head to toe, with his eyes lingering on the Doc Martens. “And shoes.”

“This is -- Entrapta,” Hordak stammers, like a fucking idiot. “She’s at the top of the class in our applied astronomy program,” he boasts unnecessarily, also like a fucking idiot.

Prime’s nostrils flare as his gaze returns to Entrapta. “A useful field, if you plan to work in the defense industry.”

Entrapta starts to smile and inhales audibly. Hordak winces. 

“Not that my little brother has any such plans for his studies, from what I understand,” continues Prime. “Perhaps you will choose more wisely.”

As Entrapta opens her mouth again, she glances at Hordak. "Uhm - yep." 

“You’re rather quiet for an astronomy genius, Entrapta,” Prime comments. “But I suppose Fresno State has lower standards.”

Hordak's stomach curls over in guilt and his heart pounds with rage. 

Entrapta looks back and forth between Prime and Hordak, clearly distressed and uncertain of what to do. “I -- I mean --”

“Tons of grad schools are recruiting her,” Hordak says, and he hates the defensiveness that bleeds into his voice.

Entrapta clears her throat. "So, um, are you coming to the party tonight, Prime?"

Prime sweeps his eyes across the room to Catra, who is doing her best to pretend not to pay attention, with her coffee cup to her mouth and her eyes glued to the Local News section, but it’s obvious that she’s listening. 

The corners of Prime’s mouth turn downward. "A party?” he repeats. “Your friends, Catra?”

“Politicians and government staff, mostly,” Catra says quickly. “Big networking opportunity. Good for the Horde family.”

Prime eyeballs his cousin once more. "I’ll leave you to it, then," he says, as if that is an answer. He takes a set of keys off the wall rack, swings them into his pocket, and exits into the mudroom. 

Hordak waits until he hears the garage door creak open and the Volvo’s engine turn over before he finally exhales. He looks back at Entrapta. 

“Did I do well?” she asks him with a hopeful smile, and Hordak wants to punch his own fucking face in. 

*_*_*_*_*_*

**Hungry Like the Wolf**

Afternoon commuter traffic does not improve Prime’s long workday, and the oily, salty scents permeating his mudroom worsen his mood significantly. When he walks into the kitchen, he finds the counter littered with platters of veggie samosas, bacon quiches, spanakopita, and other Americanized carb-and-grease gut bombs. It must be all for Catra’s party, the one she is throwing to impress Adora and trying to disguise as a networking event. 

Hordak’s purple haired astronomer girlfriend is, inexplicably, sitting on the floor with her feet planted on either side of the open trash compactor, muttering to herself in Spanish. She has apparently yanked off the control panel and is fiddling with the red and white wires by which it is dangling. 

Jesus. “What, precisely, do you think you are doing?” Prime growls. “That thing hasn’t worked in years --”

The woman twists one of the wires, slaps the control panel back into place, shuts the compactor and presses the red button. The machine springs to life. 

“All better,” she says with a grin. She wipes grease from her hands with one of Uncle Skeletor’s tea towels. “It’s okay. Hordak’s not very good at fixing things either.”

Prime blinks. He can’t remember the last time someone suggested that he is not very good at something. “Appliance repair fell outside the purview of West Point curriculum,” he replies acerbically. 

At this moment, Hordak walks into the kitchen from the foyer wearing tight jeans and a long, overly casual blue button down with a grey undershirt. His collar isn’t pulled up, so apparently he no longer cares to cover the hideous birthmark. In addition to his regrettable sartorial choices, he has adopted that ridiculous wallet chain trend and has slicked his blue mop of hair into place with too much gel. 

Entrapta jumps up from a crouch in a flurry of movement, but she straightens up and holds herself unnaturally still after she glances in Prime’s direction and back to Hordak. “You -- um, you look good, Hordak,” she says with a small smile. 

Hordak’s face flushes a sickly purple-red, and he reacts to his girlfriend’s compliment with an equally wan smile. Apparently there is something going on between those two. Unsurprising. Hordak has probably done something to screw up the relationship.

“You look like Hot Topic vomited all over you,” Catra comments from the bar between the kitchen and the living room, where she’s attempting to make something more complicated than a screwdriver while avoiding spills on her black velvet party shirt. “The guests are going to be here any minute, so make yourself useful. Put on some music -- wait. Do not put on _your_ music. Load up the CD player with anything in the red case next to the stereo.” She glances over to Prime. “I think there’s some of Prime’s albums over there, too. Mix those in.” 

Prime sighs. It’s embarrassing how much Catra must want him to stay.

Hordak huffs, but he slinks into the living room toward the media center to carry out Catra’s orders.

“I better get changed too.” Entrapta says. She clomps upstairs in those idiotic faux-combat boots.

It becomes too painful to watch Catra fail at bartending. “Give me that,” Prime says of the Grey Goose as he slides behind the bar. He rarely drinks -- in fact, he hasn’t touched alcohol in years, not since he was a newly minted captain on his last deployment before getting discharged -- but he knows how to mix something that will, as Catra would say when she thinks he isn’t listening, get everyone good and fucked up. He picks up one of the fruit juice cartons and begins putting together a cloying punch.

After he is finished, Catra decants the mix into a pitcher filled with ice, then pours herself a small glass. Her eyes pop open as she takes a sip. “Oh my God. This is straight out of an Alpha Phi afterparty. How shitfaced do you want people to get?”

“Just enough so that you can blackmail them later.” Prime gives his cousin the slightest hint of a smile. 

Catra grins back. She’s grown pleasingly devious under his tutelage.

Music erupts from the ceiling speakers -- something familiar and sickeningly poppy. The bottle blonde from the South. “Not that,” he and Catra both say at the same time.

“Britney Spears,” Catra mutters. “Adora’s favorite.” She rolls her eyes.

There’s a moment of silence, then a short recorded laugh followed by a more pleasantly familiar set of synthesizer notes. 

“Duran Duran, nice!” Catra says, and it’s so pathetically obvious that she’s looking to Prime for approval. “See? Hordak is useful for something once in a while.”

“Indeed.” Prime drums his fingertips against the counter. “I’m getting in a quick workout, and then I’m going to Seaport. Etherian Enterprises is having an open house.” It will be the perfect place to set the stage for a hostile takeover of that firm. “Catra, I trust you’ll be responsible for cleaning this place.”

Catra appears deeply disappointed, but she should know better than to expect Prime to hang around. Even if the music won’t entirely suck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey Mr. D.J.**

Hordak returns to the kitchen to find Entrapta and Prime gone and Catra looking miserable. “Fine, I’ll change the music again,” he mutters. It’s going to be bad enough to have to hang out at this thing all night like Entrapta wants to make up for hurting her feelings. It will be much worse if his cousin pouts all night.

“Leave it,” Catra says. She pours a bright pink drink down her gullet.

Entrapta hops down the stairs. She’s wearing a tight white crop top that exposes the purple crystal barbell in her navel and a stretchy black skirt with suspenders attached. She’s unearthed a black driving cap and a pair of round red lens glasses from somewhere, and of course she’s still wearing her Doc Martens. Shit. She’s way too hot for him.

“What do you think, Hordak?” She asks shyly. “I borrowed the glasses from Catra.”

Hordak returns her smile. The whole day has been filled with painful awkwardness, all the way from the City Registry to the science museum. But maybe the evening is salvageable. “Beautiful.” He walks to her and takes her hand in his and raises it to his lips. “My purple princess,” he leans over and murmurs in her ear, and she blushes just like he hoped she would. God, she is so cute.

“God, you are so embarrassing,” Catra growls. “Not you, Entrapta. Your dumbass boyfriend. Hordak, try not to act like a lovesick idiot when my friends get here, alright?”

Together, Hordak and Entrapta finish up the party preparations at Catra’s direction. When Catra runs upstairs to touch up her eyeliner, Entrapta grabs a plate and starts piling appetizers onto it. 

The doorbell rings.

“Hordak, get the damn door!” Catra shouts from the bathroom.

Hordak is about to scream back at Catra, but then he sees Entrapta’s uncertain look on her face and he decides not to argue. 

Standing on the threshold are a cluster of women who are, for the most part, unfamiliar, but Hordak remembers a few from Catra’s summers home from Barnard. Their attire ranges from casual partywear to just-got-off-work business suits.

A woman who nearly as tall as Hordak, with ice-pale skin and platinum punk hair and a guileless grin, shoulders through the group and walks through the door. She’s wearing a burgundy pantsuit, the blazer to which she immediately sheds and tosses on the coat rack to reveal sculpted biceps and a black blouse. “Hordak! I haven’t seen you since you were in high school! Love the hair. It’s so goth. Is that a word that the kids are using these days? Gosh, it’s just so good to see you!” 

Scorpia, Hordak remembers belatedly. Before he can move away, Scorpia engulfs him in her arms and squishes him against her pendulous breasts. “Oh, and who is this?” She asks as she notices Entrapta standing against the wall, still holding the appetizer plate. “Little lady, you have to show me where you got those cute samosas. They look so tasty.” 

Entrapta glances at Hordak, then smiles and leads Scorpia toward the kitchen. The two chatter about the food as the rest of the women push past Hordak and head straight for the bar.

Hordak doesn’t even have time to shut the door before more people arrive -- some of them recognizable, many of them not; most of them displaying that loud, extroverted personality that seems to be a requirement for the political class. He lingers in the foyer, listening to conversations filled with inside jokes and talking about absent VIPs by first names. Catra comes back down and makes her greetings; she seems preoccupied with her guests if not entirely happy. There’s no sign of Adora. 

Hordak peeks into the kitchen to watch Entrapta, who currently has somebody’s cell phone laid out on the counter in five or six pieces. She is surrounded by other women who are watching what she’s doing, with Scorpia over her shoulder, encouraging her loudly. He should be pleased -- Entrapta seems to be having fun, Prime is nowhere to be found, and Catra’s annoying friends aren’t bothering him. And yet he wishes that Entrapta would just hang out with him, in spite of yesterday’s dumbassery. 

Catra stalks up to Hordak and shoves a drink into his hand before he can object. Maybe she’s trying to be kind? “Drink this and stop sulking in the corner.”

Nope. “Where’s Adora?” Hordak asks, ignoring Catra’s directives.

“I’m sure she’s just wrapping things up at work,” Catra says, but she can’t hide the worry in her voice. “Speaking of girlfriends, yours isn’t having any trouble making friends. Unlike you.”

She can be such a little shit. “Shut up.” 

“You shut up.”

“Children,” Prime says from behind them. He’s done that Special Forces thing; in spite of being almost seven feet tall and over two hundred fifty pounds, he can move as silently as a panther in the jungle. He’s changed into a white linen suit with a serpent-green Oxford shirt, unbuttoned to mid-sternum. “You’re bringing down the party.”

“You sure you have to get back to work right now? Maybe you can stay for a little bit?” Catra asks. She still looks miserable. Good.

Prime raises a single eyebrow and stares down his narrow nose at Catra. “Are you joking? You want me to miss a critical work event in favor of watching Hordak’s girlfriend fix electronics? Though I must say, Hordak, I’m impressed that Fresno State’s applied astronomy degree comes with a free appliance repair certification.”

Catra furrows her brows, but to Hordak’s everlasting gratitude, she doesn’t so much as snicker at Prime’s pathetic joke.

The door opens again. Adora walks in first, in a tight red blazer and slacks, flanked by a couple of friends that Hordak remembers from high school.

Catra rushes toward Adora, clearly forgetting her two cousins, and she nearly knocks her girlfriend over. And Catra says that _he_ is embarrassing around Entrapta?

Hordak is so busy stewing about his family members that he almost doesn’t hear Prime mumbling, “Of course I’m staying.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

**The Glamorous Life**

For the most part, Prime has never bothered to remember Catra’s friends, but over the years a few names have penetrated the fog of his willful ignorance, and a couple such individuals have just walked in. Bow is memorable because he is pretty much the only male that Catra hangs out with who isn’t a blood relation; he is an engineer wasting his time making a pathetic salary in the Boston Public Works Department. As usual, he’s sweating more than the temperature warrants and wearing a cheap polyester button down with the sleeves rolled up. Adora is easy to remember as well, since the newspapers print her pictures so frequently and Catra can’t shut up about her. Her rosy cheeks match her outfit and hint that she has already been pre-party drinking.

There is another woman, too, hanging back at the front door.

Her face glows with a sheen of expensive looking makeup and sparkly eyeshadow, and her brown hair is shot through with strawberry pink streaks. She wears a navy pantsuit -- part of the straight-from-work group, apparently -- and she looks oddly nervous. 

“Who’s that,” Prime murmurs to Hordak.

Hordak tears his eyes away from Entrapta and snaps to attention. “What? Who?”

“That short woman who came in with Catra’s girlfriend. She is familiar.” 

“Oh. Um.” Hordak furrows his brows as he recalls the details. “Glimmer Moon. High school friend of Catra’s, used to come over to watch _Fresh Prince_. Bigwig parents. I think she was a senior when I was a freshman.”

The last name jogs Prime’s memory; Catra does tend to prattle on endlessly about her VIP connections. “Trust fund brat with a politician father?” he asks.

“I guess.” Hordak swallows and looks up at the ceiling, even as his shoulders hunch inward. “Catra would know more than me.”

“Catra is occupied.” Prime jerks his chin toward their cousin, who has dragged Adora into the kitchen and is holding a beer up to her girlfriend’s lips.

“Yeah.” Hordak glances at his own girlfriend longingly, then looks back to Prime. “Um -- I should --” he gestures in Entrapta’s direction.

“Yes. You should.” Prime turns his back to his brother and focuses his full attention on Glimmer. 

Glimmer tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear and briefly locks eyes with Prime. Her cheeks color and she looks away, then she finally, tentatively walks out of the foyer, through the kitchen and into the living room where people are dancing to a peppy hip hop number. She sheds the blazer and folds it over the back of a sofa, then leans against the oak paneling, apparently neither ready to dance nor drink.

Prime finds himself following. He stalks through the kitchen and sidles beside her.

“I remember you,” Prime says, leaning down so that she can hear him over the music. She’s so short. Her hair is different from his vague recollections -- shinier, slicker. Post-collegiate. “Glimmer,” he says, and he likes the way her name slips across his tongue.

Glimmer looks up with surprise in her dark eyes. “I remember you too. You used to have a buzz cut,” she says. “Not in the military anymore?”

“Honorable discharge,” he lies. “I’m conquering the Financial District now.” He surveys the party. There’s a pair of women giggling and trading phone numbers scrawled on business cards over by the wet bar. 

Glimmer doesn’t respond verbally; she folds her arms and stares out at the crowd. Someone turns down the lights, and many women scream in unison as a blacklight switches on.

Prime’s eyes flick down the rest of Glimmer’s form while she’s not looking at him. Her bare shoulders slope down into slightly pudgy arms folded across a sleeveless pink blouse that covers her small breasts. Her slacks are tight against a pair of broad, exceptional thighs. She wears platform wedges that are fashionable, but, judging from the way she keeps shifting her weight, probably uncomfortable. “You’re still hanging around my cousin Catra after all these years, I see.”

She glances at him again. “It’s hard to make friends after college.” She looks across the temporary dance floor.

Prime follows her gaze to Bow and Catra and Adora jumping up and down in the middle of the room, a trifecta of drunken idiocy. As the song changes, Bow dances away while Adora and Catra stagger to the bar and grab several tiny cups. Soon the two women are stumbling up to Glimmer with fistfuls of jewel-colored Jell-O shots.

Catra shoves a green one into Glimmer’s hand. “Come on, Sparkles,” she says with a sideways smile. Her grin falters as she notices Prime standing there as well. 

Adora, a National Guard reservist and one-time deputy DA who has skyrocketed to political relevance by taking down white collar criminals, is not, evidently, intimidated by Prime at all; she holds a shot so close to him that he must take it or risk bright red gelatin dribbling down his white linen slacks. “You too, Cousin Prime,” Adora shouts over the music. Then she holds up her own cup and calls out to the entire party, “For the HONOR OF --”

“Not this crap,” Catra grumbles.

“GREYSKULL!” Answers the crowd, and Adora happily downs her shot as the partygoers howl approval.

Prime glances down at Glimmer, who shrugs and clinks her plastic cup against his. “You too, ‘Cousin’ Prime,” she repeats, and downs her own shot to cheers from Adora.

Oh, why not? “By your leave, ‘Sparkles,’” he answers, and puts the cup to his lips. The Jell-O slides down his tongue. It’s sweet but caustic, and the texture makes him gag; he forces himself to swallow. An even louder cheer erupts from the crowd, the loudest of all coming from Catra.

After that, most people return to dancing, but Glimmer still stands beside him. Somehow she’s already holding two full glasses of something clear and bubbly. “Gin and tonic,” she answers his unasked question as she offers one to him. “Scorpia knows I’m not a Jell-O shot person,” she explains, and she nods her thanks to a giantess near the French doors. “I guess she thinks you aren’t, either.”

Prime is not an alcohol person at all, but he likes the way Glimmer’s fingertips brush against his when he takes the glass from her. He grimaces as much from the tart citrus flavor as from the strength of the drink, but it washes away the fake raspberry aftertaste, and it provides a warm, pleasant feeling in his stomach. 

“So, you’re still talking to me,” Glimmer prompts.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re one of my cousin’s honored guests.” Maybe he’s laying it on a little thick. But he just worked out, he hasn’t eaten dinner, and the booze is rapidly diffusing through his bloodstream, and besides, Glimmer is so much more interesting than whatever he was going to do out in Seaport. Hostile takeover. Right. He’ll get to it on Monday.

Glimmer huffs and turns to the side. She has tattoos on her shoulder blades, tiny intricate angel wings with feathers rendered so carefully that they look like woodblock prints. _Frippery in the guise of ‘self expression’,_ Uncle Skeletor would say. 

And yet, the wings are pretty hot. Maybe there’s some more ink under that blouse. It would be delightful to find out. Prime takes a longer sip from his glass. “You’re unaccustomed to having conversations with people like me.”

“Ya think?” Glimmer tosses her head and her hair flips away from her face. “Tall, handsome finance guys are crawling all over my family’s company where I work, but none of them care about me. They just want to impress my mom.”

 _Tall, handsome_ rolls around deliciously in Prime’s mind. He takes another sip. “Those men are turds.”

“True,” she laughs, and her amusement seems genuine. “You know, I wasn’t sure about coming tonight, but so far things are alright. Somebody finally turned on some good songs.”

It’s Sheila E, jamming through the middle of her iconic drum solo. “This is my CD,” Prime boasts.

“Oh yeah?” Glimmer flicks a dangly earring with a glittery fingernail. “I like eighties stuff too.” She makes a weird half-smile that extends the alcohol-induced warmth across Prime’s skin. 

Fuck it. "You said it’s hard to make friends after college," he reminds her. 

She wrinkles her nose. “It is.”

“You know, I'm friendly,” he says, his tone about as friendly as a snake slithering toward its prey. 

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "You're arrogant."

"Arrogance is for those who overestimate their abilities,” Prime corrects her. “I’m well aware of what I can do.”

Maybe she thinks he’s joking, or that he’s merely flirting, because the corners of her mouth turn upward. “Right,” she says. But then her eyes catch on someone over in the kitchen, and she frowns.

Prime follows Glimmer’s gaze over to -- Bow. _Seriously?_ The young man is sitting at the breakfast table having an animated discussion with Hordak’s girlfriend. Prime turns back to Glimmer, who is biting her lower lip. 

Oh, she’s jealous. How predictable. How boring. 

“Stop pining after him,” Prime says.

Glimmer’s eyes widen, and her empty hand actually clenches into a fist. “Excuse me?”

“If a man would rather talk about robots with some college kid than spend time with you at a party, then he’s not interested in you.” Prime ignores the sudden, clear hurt in Glimmer’s face. He finishes off the gin, and there’s that warm relaxing feeling in his stomach again. “But I am. Interested, that is.” 

Glimmer turns so that she faces Prime directly. Even with her head tilted up, she’s so short that he can see the crown of her head, where the strawberry highlights begin. She gives him a long, assessing look. “You are a dick,” she says quietly. 

Prime blinks. That isn’t quite the response he expected. Or hoped for, if he’s being honest with himself.

“You clearly can’t hold your liquor,” she continues. “You are way too old for me. Oh, and my parents would hate you.”

“But?” He’s pretty sure there’s a ‘but’ coming. 

“You’re right about Bow. He doesn’t want me like that.” She closes her eyes and sighs. 

Sheila E’s pop-soul-funk transitions into the synthesized beats of Nu Shooz. “And where does that leave me, from your perspective?” Prime asks.

“You’re --” she groans, obviously frustrated with herself. “You’re very, very attractive.” 

As if that were ever in question. Prime leans his forearm on the wall near her head and inhales deeply. She’s so close that he can smell the many potions she has applied to herself - fruity perfume, creamy lotion, powdery deodorant, astringent hairspray - and he would like all of those scents to transfer onto his skin. Immediately. The bassline causes Prime to sway toward Glimmer, or maybe the gin does it. “So?”

Glimmer looks over to Bow one final time, then once again locks eyes with Prime’s. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Prime echoes. He gives her a long, slow smile and strokes his hand lightly against her cheek. 

She leans into his touch and closes her eyes. She’s soft, and warm, and all his tonight.

But after a moment, she opens her eyes and glances over her shoulder toward the stairs. “Uh, don’t you live here? Take me up to your room, dummy.”

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Don’t Leave Me**

“Hordak,” Catra slurs as she flops onto the couch cushion beside him and hooks her elbow around his neck.

“What do you want?” Hordak grumbles, wrinkling his nose at his cousin’s breath. 

“Nothin’,” she answers. “Just wanted to say Prime’s wrong about your girl. She’s a little, uh, different, but she’s been real nice to me and my friends. She fixed all their cell phone antennas.”

“Oh.” Hordak’s not really sure what to say to that. It’s not like he’s accustomed to Catra expressing thanks about anything, at least not to him. He takes a sip of his Sprite to stall.

“For fuck’s sake, Hordak, I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Why?” Hordak asks. He’s too tired for mind games.

“I guess it’s just weird and cool to see you happy about someone. Makes me think that maybe I can have that too.” Catra thwacks Hordak on the back, and with a “Don’t fuck it up, champ,” she lurches away to find Adora.

It’s at that moment that the full weight of Hordak’s assholery toward Entrapta crashes down upon him. He has already observed his brother get drunk, ignore work, and hit on Catra’s friend with lines that were stale back in the eighties, not to mention insult Entrapta in spite of Hordak’s efforts to protect her. Why, exactly, has Hordak ever cared what that hypocritical asshole thinks about anything? 

It’s time to fix this, or die trying.

Entrapta sits at the breakfast table with Bow, describing the seven-hundred mile water conveyance system in California’s Central Valley. Her cheeks redden as she gets to the particularly complicated bits, and at one point she takes off her cap to demonstrate something about a reservoir. Bow hangs on her every word and occasionally asks reverent questions. The two other women at the table don’t seem to be following all of the engineering chatter, but one of them frequently interjects comments about the political feasibility of similar public works projects on the East Coast. Apparently, Hordak isn’t the only one who thinks that Entrapta is pretty incredible.

Suddenly, Entrapta notices that Hordak is standing there, watching her. She slams her hands into her lap and immediately stops talking.

Hordak’s innards ice over in shame. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out.

The other three people at the table look up at him, obviously annoyed at the interruption. Shit.

“Entrapta, can I -- can we --” Hordak gestures toward the foyer. “Let’s talk for a minute.”

“Uh -- sure!” Entrapta stands and allows Hordak to take her hand.

He guides her past the staircase and down the darkened hallway where he won’t have to shout, then places his hands on her shoulders and gazes down at her confused expression.

“I’m sorry,” Hordak repeats quietly. “I never should have criticized the way you talk. You’re exactly the way you should be. Anyone who thinks differently is a fool, including Prime. Especially Prime.” He rubs the birthmark on the side of his neck and forces himself to leave his collar in place.

Entrapta removes the red glasses and looks up at Hordak, her eyes shining. “I --” she stops. “Thanks.”

Hordak smiles in relief and slides his hands down her arms. “Can I make it up to you?”

Entrapta quirks an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

Five minutes later, Hordak has snuck Entrapta into Prime’s dark, quiet, first floor study, the only room in the house that remains largely untouched from when it belonged to Uncle Skeletor. Moonlight streams through the window and illuminates cherrywood paneling, leather bound books, brass lamps, velvet curtains, and collection of vintage World War I trench maps framed beneath archive-quality UV-protective glass. An enormous carved desk looms in the center of a Persian rug, its surface clear but for a leather writing pad. Hordak locks the double doors.

He’s getting hard, as much fear as from excitement. “You could, uh, get up on the desk --?”

Entrapta hops right up without hesitation. Her legs dangle, bare but for her tall boots, and she gives him an inviting grin.

With his heart pounding, Hordak sits in the oxblood swivel chair. Wordlessly, as Entrapta lifts her butt and scrunches her skirt up to her waist, Hordak hooks a finger into the elastic of her panties (the pink ones with the little black bats that he gave to her on Valentine’s Day; God, he doesn’t deserve her) and pulls them down past her thighs and over her boots, then tucks them into his back pocket. He nudges her knees apart and bows his head and begins making the second half of his apology. 

Soon she’s slick against his chin, squishing his face between her thighs and inhaling sharply and yelping his name, and he smiles even as he keeps swirling his tongue against her, and then his gelled hair crackles under her fingers as she pushes his head away and gasps, “Too much! Er, enough. Just right. You’re, ah, forgiven.” 

Finally he pulls back and wipes his face with his sleeve, but his grin remains in place.

Entrapta lays there for a while with her knees steepled and her head lolling off the front edge of the desk, but eventually she rises and rolls her shoulders. She looks down at his crotch. The bulge in his jeans is obvious, even in this low light, but he doesn’t dare ask her for anything.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need to. “I’m ready for more,” she whispers, pressing her lips together and reaching down to unbutton his fly.

He’s hardly able to shimmy his pants down before she turns around and sits, sinking down onto his cock. “Fuck,” he manages, before she kind of squirms and uses the desk edge for leverage. She extracts an orgasm from him in three minutes flat.

“That was -- um,” he says as he softens inside of her and tries not to think about how he’s going to clean things up when she stands. But it’s probably a little late to be worrying about that now, given the stains Entrapta has left on the desk pad.

“Yeah,” says Entrapta, cuddling further into his embrace. “I love you,” she murmurs.

He squeezes her tightly, and she squeaks a little. “I love you too.”

*_*_*_*_*

**I Need You Tonight**

“You’re right,” Glimmer pants. “That feels fucking great, you know exactly what you’re doing --”

“I know,” Prime hums against her neck. He doesn’t even have her blouse off, but he’s got her back against his Egyptian cotton sheets, and her panties somewhere on his floor, and his fingers deep in her hot wet cunt. She’s writhing and moaning as he circles his thumb around her clit, and this is so much better than anything he was planning tonight.

“How the hell are you so good at this,” she continues. He didn’t take her for a babbler, but it’s such a turn-on to see her self-control in tatters because of him. “You don’t even know me --”

“Your face. It gives me all the information I need to give you what you want.” He smiles into her shoulder and slows down his pace. 

“Slowing down is the opposite of what I want,” she says as she thrusts her hips to meet his hand, her tone full of warning.

He pulls his hand fully away and licks his slick fingers. “Beg me.”

She freezes. That’s -- unexpected.

“What did you say to me?” she hisses, her teeth clenched. Ah, she’s mad. She looks even sexier like this. 

He nips her collarbone and grazes his thumb against her, and she shivers. “I said,” he does it one more time, and she convulses again, “Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Instead of sighing and submitting to him, though, she sits up and narrows her eyes. “I don’t think so.” And the next thing he knows, she pushes his shoulder with a force he is surprised that such a small person can produce, and flops him backward onto the mattress. The shock is both annoying and arousing. “I don’t beg.”

“What is it that you do, princess?” He asks, his growing irritation coming through. 

“Take your clothes off, and I’ll show you,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice that no person has ever dared to use with him before.

Fine. He can humor her. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time. 

“Faster.” 

His fingers fumble, as much from the last of the booze metabolizing in his system as from his sudden, strange case of nerves. He opts to simply tear the shirt off, and the last two buttons pop. That’s an issue the dry cleaners can deal with later. 

Glimmer sits up on the mattress with her legs to one side. The hemline of her blouse grazes those wide, alluring thighs, those knees with the intriguing dimples, those smooth calves . . . “I’m waiting,” she says, unsmiling.

His erection strains against his slacks. He unclasps his belt and shifts out of his pants and briefs, and then he is completely unclothed before her. 

If Glimmer likes what she sees, her expression doesn’t give that away, though admittedly it’s pretty dark in here. “I can work with this,” is her only comment. She sticks a fist into her purse on the bedside table and extracts, then tears open a plastic-wrapped condom, and as she is unrolling the latex onto him, he realizes that this is the first moment that she is actually touching his cock, and the thought makes him thrust against her hands like a fucking virgin. “Save that for me,” she says, and she’s finally smiling again.

“My pleasure,” Prime answers, and he snaps her blouse over her head.

It turns out that she does have an additional tattoo, this one on her ribcage beneath her left breast. It’s another pair of wings, sharp and stylized. He needs to put his tongue there.

“Wait,” Glimmer commands, and Prime finds himself doing as he is told without complaint. “Gotta take this thing off.” She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, then slips it off and tosses it away. And then Prime forgets all about the tattoo, because now there are bare breasts with pointy brown nipples that need his tongue’s attention.

Glimmer laughs and pushes him back against the pillows. She swings one leg over his hips and clasps him again to hold him in place.

“Fuck,” Prime grinds out, his fingers clawing against Glimmer’s fleshy hips.

“That’s the plan, yes,” she says, and she slides onto him in a single wave of heat and pressure.

It’s not entirely clear to Prime whether Glimmer really, truly knows what she is doing, or if he is just this turned on, but soon he is rolling up against her while she touches herself, and he desperately wishes to hear her scream. He obviously got her good and ready earlier, because she quickly grants his wish in a long, solid moan and collapses onto his chest.

“I don’t -- beg,” she pants into his neck as her sweat drips onto his skin. “You -- you beg.”

Wait -- that’s not -- “Let me come now,” he says, half a demand.

She doesn’t move.

“Please,” he whispers.

She laughs and slowly, slowly peels herself off of him. “Alright,” she answers, laughing harder.

She’s practically howling when he flips her onto her back, but he gets her gasping again as he drives into her with his full strength. She slips her hand between their bodies, and when she comes this time, he joins her.

A while later, after Prime has snicked off the condom and taken a piss and drunk some water straight from the bathroom tap and flopped back into bed, he feels Glimmer stir beside him. She probably wants to cuddle. Distasteful, generally, but for her, he can make an exception.

“Move over,” she slurs, her voice thick with sleep.

Fine. Prime shifts his weight. He will do what he must, as long as he can have her on top of him again in the morning.

When Prime opens his eyes the next day, the sunlight is streaming in through the sheer curtains and his stomach is puckering in its emptiness. His usual 'hearty' breakfast consists of three scrambled egg whites and a grapefruit, but at this moment, he would happily scarf down a stack of flapjacks and a pile of bacon.

Also, half of Prime's body is hanging off the side of the bed. Glimmer has stretched out across the mattress in her sleep and hasn't left any room for him at all.

He sits up and runs a hand through his hair and licks his chapped lips. When he looks back at Glimmer, he sees that she has awakened as well.

She rubs an eye with the heel of her hand, which smudges eyeliner across her temple. "I should go," she yawns. Then she slips off the bed and walks around the room, picking up and donning her various garments as she goes.

Prime stretches and pops his neck, and from the corner of his eye he sees Glimmer watching him. He curls a bicep and notes with satisfaction that her mouth opens slightly. "What are you doing tonight?” Prime asks, though what he means is _At what point during the evening will you be back in my bed?_

Glimmer sits on the studded bench at the foot of the bed as she slips on a shoe. "Oh, the usual. Yoga. Then a women’s professional association award dinner."

“Come over after that.”

“Um,” Glimmer suddenly seems to be concentrating very hard on her platform wedge. “I got the impression this was a one-time thing.”

Strange. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“It’s okay. I know what finance guys are looking for, and it’s not -- this.” She gestures down at her rumpled suit, but it’s clear that she means the short, plump form beneath. “Not even with the trust fund.”

She’s got to be joking, or possibly even lying for some reason. “I don’t need your trust fund. I have my own.” What he doesn't have yet is a woman with the right taste in music and a set of perfect thighs and an inimitable style of fucking.

Glimmer smirks, but she doesn’t appear totally convinced. She looks like she is about to say something when her cell phone rings inside her purse on the nightstand. She walks over pulls it out and sits beside him on the bedspread and answers. The speaker on the other end is shouting, but the words aren’t intelligible to Prime. “Uh huh.” She listens for what seems like a long time. “I see.” After hanging up, she turns to Prime. “Were you planning to go to the Etherian Enterprises open house last night?”

He definitely did not expect her to say that. “I was. But then I got distracted.” He runs his palm down her thigh.

“That’s my mom’s company. Where I work.”

Prime blinks. The light streaming in through the windows suddenly feels harsh and headache-inducing. “Your mother is Angella Bright?”

“Yep. Apparently your board members got worried when you didn’t show up last night. I guess my mom figured out that something was up, so she cut a deal and averted a hostile takeover, and then there was an emergency meeting this morning and -- I’m not exactly sure what happened, but your firm got absorbed by ours. The upshot is, you’re kind of, like, my employee now.”

Prime’s cell phone rings from its spot on the dresser. A moment later, the landline starts up.

“Um -- see you on Monday at work, I guess.” She picks up her purse and leans toward him and gives him a peck on the cheek.

Then she leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Yes I Am**

The phone in the kitchen goes to the answering machine, but the caller hangs up. A moment later, it starts ringing again.

“Make it stop,” Adora groans from where she is flopped on the couch, her red blazer scrunched over the top half of her face.

“That was the best party ever!” Entrapta says over the phone ringing as she dumps sugar into her coffee mug (“Grannies for Governor Granamyr in ‘96!”) and passes another to Hordak (“Suffolk County Young Dems <3 Mayor Mantenna”). 

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Catra croaks from the living room floor. The phone goes to the answering machine again, and the caller hangs up again.

Hordak exchanges a smile with Entrapta. She’s just wearing her usual cargo pants and a tank top, but she always looks especially adorable on mornings after she has screwed his brains out. Beneath the breakfast table, he gently nudges her bare foot with his own. “Want to go to the planetarium today?” he asks.

“Sounds great,” Entrapta says as the phone starts ringing a third time. 

Above them, Hordak can feel as much as hear a number of thumps across the ceiling. 

A moment later, Glimmer hurries down the stairs in last night’s suit, a set of keys jingling in her hand. “Uh, great party, guys! Gotta go!” she calls from the foyer. Hordak hears the front door creak open, then slam shut.

“That was weird,” Entrapta comments, verbalizing Hordak’s thoughts.

“Jesus, someone answer the phone!” Adora wails.

Catra crawls across the kitchen floor and grabs the receiver just as Prime stumbles down down the stairs wearing his Black Watch tartan robe and scuff slippers. His long blond hair is sticking up in every direction, and there’s a streak of sparkly lipstick across his neck. He pauses long enough to glare at everyone in the kitchen with wild eyes, then runs out the front door.

“What was that about?” Entrapta asks as she cuts her buttered toast into four little triangles.

“No idea,” Hordak shrugs. But he smiles into his coffee. Whatever is happening, it isn’t making Prime happy.

“Hey Hordak.” Catra guffaws from where she is leaning up against the cabinet, staring at the phone in her hands with disbelief written across her face. “You’re not going to believe what a dumbass Prime has turned out to be.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

**Don’t You Want Me, Baby?**

Prime winces at the sunlight when he slinks outside. 

Glimmer is already inside her car, a white BMW coupe with a Georgetown license plate frame. 

He exhales and walks over to the vehicle. “So was it all a ruse?” he growls through the open window.

“Of course not. I had no idea what was going to happen. I thought you were just some good looking former military-type all along.”

He almost buys it. But there’s a hint of triumph in her voice, a gleam in her eyes that makes him understand, in horror and fear, just how good of a liar she really is, how fully she has defeated him, how terrifying she must be to all who underestimate her.

She looks at him with the same expression from when he shed his clothes the night before. “I have something for you.” She turns away and removes a piece of paper from the console. It’s her business card, with her cell number written beneath the official contact information. “In case you can overlook my family business.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the car pulls away.

He should tear the card up and toss the pieces into the winds. He should call up his board members and threaten a lawsuit. He should stop watching Glimmer drive away, and stop thinking of how she looked and felt on top of him the night before.

He slips the card into his pocket.

*_*_*_*

**Going Back to Cali**

The mid-morning air smells like rotting wood and wet concrete. It’s going to be a hot, muggy afternoon and a worse evening. Fortunately, Hordak and Entrapta won’t be here for it.

“That’s the last of the bags,” says Catra as she slams shut the taxi trunk and steps back.

Entrapta grabs Catra around the neck. “Thanks for everything. I’m glad we are friends now,” she says.

“You know, me too,” Catra says, and she seems to be having a difficult time believing her own words. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Even though Hordak’s a California resident now.”

Entrapta releases Catra and nods, then walks to the taxi, leaving Hordak alone with his cousin.

Hordak has grown accustomed to emotionless goodbyes with family, so something feels different this time. “Catra,” he starts, then stops and takes a deep breath. “Don’t let Prime try to dictate your life, you know? You’re doing really well now. I’m -- proud of you, or something.”

Catra snickers. “That business with Glimmer and Etherian Enterprises set me straight. Prime is more of a horny dummy than you are. I know better than to take life advice from him.” She jerks her chin in the direction of the house, and as Hordak reflexively looks up at the second story, he sees the master bedroom curtains flutter.

“You too,” she says while looking at the ground and scratching the back of her neck. “I’m, like, proud of you too, or whatever.”

Hordak looks back to Entrapta, who is leaning against the taxi, and she beams at him. 

He pats Catra’s shoulder awkwardly. “Come visit us sometime. Bring Adora with you.” 

“Is Fresno close to the beach?” Catra asks.

Hordak snorts, thinking of the four hour drive to the nearest coastline, and how the entire state of Massachusetts could almost fit inside Fresno County. “Close enough,” he answers. “See you, Catra.” He steps back and opens the car door for Entrapta, and they both get in. 

“I loved Boston,” Entrapta says. “And Catra. And all your friends.”

“I’m just glad we’re finally going home,” Hordak says, and he takes Entrapta’s hand. 

“Me too.” Entrapta smiles. “Home.”

*_*_*_*_*

[the end]

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [sympathy_for_hordak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrus_quill/pseuds/sympathy_for_hordak) for the wonderful and motivational beta-ing!


End file.
